


West Coast

by mandaree1



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: A bit of Peter Pan syndrome I guess, BEAKLEY'S FEATHER DUSTER OF DEATH, But the trend is going strong, F/F, Fire, Flaming swords, Lena does magic, Lena: UR NOT MY DAD, Mabel voice: SUPER HOT FLAMEY SWORDS, Magic puberty, Party Crashing, The marbles are there for a reason I swear, You bet this was named for the Imagine Dragons song, dumb Teen ducks being dumb teen ducks, idk why I keep putting Lena in hats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-10 06:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17420699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: To Webby, Lena can do most anything. Anything except grow up, that is.





	1. Part 1

Flintheart Glomgold is a ridiculously petty man, and it's in his nature to try to rub Scrooge's beak in things, so it comes as no real surprise when a flimsy yellow invitation appears in the mailbox for his birthday party. Likewise, if it weren't for the very large No Free Food typed underneath, Scrooge probably would've gone, just to goad him.

The Duck children needed no such pretense, however. At fourteen, they all carried themselves differently than they had as kids. Huey had traded out his shirts for red flannel and his JWB for a thick leather notebook to write about new discoveries (though the guidebook was kept very carefully tucked away and cared for). He was the tallest of the trio, as well as the most muscular. Dewey, in typical Dewey fashion, had a cracked beak from falling out an airplane on his thirteenth birthday, and had shaved the side of his head, letting the feathers on the other side grow out long. And then there was Louie, still as scrawny as ever, still in his green hoodie, but with the added bonus of his first doubloon hanging from a string around his neck. His side-whiskers were longer and fluffier than ever as he discussed business with various people around the ballroom, as if daring someone to comment on his relation to Scrooge. Webby had grown marginally taller but had overall stayed fairly compact, though her muscles had become more pronounced as time went on, wearing a deep purple blouse and three griffin claw scars on her cheek.

And Lena... well, Lena wore Scrooge's old bowler hat and a vest.

Though she was technically a resident of McDuck manor, Lena wasn't here as a partygoer. Flintheart wanted most anything Scrooge had, and if he had an illusionist on his birthday, so would he. And if Lena charged double for the trouble, then so be it. That didn't stop her from wandering the room and just generally irritating the rich people of Duckburg with her lackluster style and manners.

Webby did a full circle of the ballroom and came back around in time to watch Lena and Dewey have a drink-off with the fountain of cider. In her blouse alone there was throwing stars, a couple of daggers, and one decently-sized mace. Just in case things got tricky, of course. You wouldn't be able to tell from looking at her, though, her short feathers clipped to the side so they were out of her face, eyes sparkling and bright and really, really pretty.

Lena lost from that thought alone, choking on her drink. She grimly wiped her beak and sat up. "How's the evening been to you, Anglibeth?"

"Oh, just _lovely_ , dear Brittania," Webby replied, voice full of snobbery. A few nearby patrons turned to glare at her as she went on. "Haven't been this bored since I got locked in that safe at the bottom of the Atlantic."

"Not all parties are created equal," Huey said without looking up from his notebook. "I'm pretty sure the band has been playing the same song over and over again with some _It's Not Unusual_ s inbetween. Whup, there it is again."

A light and jingling tune met their ears. It reminded Lena of the music heard most often in malls around Christmas time. Louie, who had passed by long enough to get himself a proper cup of cider, groaned just loud enough to be heard before vanishing again. Lena had to admire his work ethic.

Webby held out her hand. "Care to dance?"

"Only if you don't mind my vest being sticky."

"Lena, I'd be more surprised if your vest _wasn't_ sticky by now."

She had a point.

Lena allowed herself to be escorted out onto the dance floor, looking around to meet any judgmental eyes with an evil grin. And, really, it's not her fault if the white bread majority in this town expected the Duck-McDuck clan to be even slightly behaved at their rival's party.

Webby pressed close to her chest with a wet squelch. Lena set a hand on her waist and took the lead, twirling them without any real direction. The smaller duck was tall enough to meet her eye, but not tall enough to avoid a quick noogie. Webby stuck her tongue out at her; then, getting a wicked look in her eyes, bent down to scoop Lena up like she weighed nothing, balancing her on her forearms.

Lena whooped and blew some kisses, which transformed into flaming butterflies halfway through. She hoped they caught Glomgold's beard on fire. "I'm on top of the world!"

"Ahem!" an obnoxiously Scottish voice snarled behind them. Flintheart leaned heavily on his cane, glowering, as Lena was set to the ground. "What're yew doin'?"

"What does it look like we're doing?" Lena replied. "We're crashing your party, man."

"Only _I_ can crash my parties!"

Webby rolled her eyes and did a little bow. "Whoopsie. Guess we didn't get the memo."

He crossed his arms. "Gimme one reason why I shouldnae call the cops."

Lena did a gesture with her hand, pulling a rose from thin air. "I brought you a gift?"

"A puny flower?" He stared at it, gobsmacked. "How am I supposed ta' destroy me enemies with that?"

"More of a weapons man, I take it? That's cool." She flipped the flower around, cupping the bulb in her hands. A quick shot of warm air into them and she was holding out a dagger encrusted with rose designs. "Would you like some fire with that?"

That managed to made Flintheart crack a grin. "I'm Flintheart Glomgold! When _don't_ I want fire with somethin'?"

"I'd assume with your sharks," Webby chipped in.

"I had some nerds create lava sharks fer that very reason!"

"Somehow, I'm not surprised."

Lena was far from a stupendous with magic. She would never claim to be half as good as, say, Magica. But there were two things she did well; making things appear, and fire. The first was more of a parlor trick than actual magic, and even the weakest demon could manage to set something on fire, let alone a shadow golem. So when she snapped her fingers and blue flames burst out, setting the blade of the dagger on fire, she really didn't foresee trouble coming out of it.

Not until Glomgold got his grubby hands on it, anyway.

He took the cool handle with a wicked grin, making some experimental jabs at patrons nearby. "Ahhh, where's Scroogey when ye need him?"

"At this hour? Probably sleeping."

"Pathetic old coot," he grunted. "Too old to stay up past his bedtime, eh? Meanwhile, I have all my wits about me!" He did a wide ark with the blade- then, in typical Glomgold fashion, he let go. "Uh-oh."

In the back, Dewey said, "That can't be good."

The blade crashed through one of the many large windows in the room, catching the curtains ablaze while it was at it. The blue fire ate the fabric like it hadn't eaten in days, curling up on the metal rod holding them up.

Flintheart turned to glare at Lena. "I blame yew entirely fer this."

"Relax, man. It's safe fire." She grabbed one of the curtains as proof of this. "It can't hurt people."

"That's lame!"

"It's a very difficult magic, thank you very much. It requires a lot of concentration. One little slip-up and-" the blue first exploded outwards in a wave, snatching tablecloths and other curtains along the way. Lena recoiled, wiping at her eyes. "Fuck!"

"Lena!" Webby cried, grabbing her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Just peachy," she grunted. "I feel like I got sand to the face."

Louie came up next to them, hefting Lena to her feet. "We should probably get out of here. Y'know, before we have to foot the bill."

"Good point." Webby grabbed Lena's free hand and broke into a sprint. "Come on!"

Huey and Dewey caught on pretty quickly. The former Duck triplet snatched a water bottle from the back room as they slipped through the halls and into the elevators, displeased guards close behind. Lena leaned on the elevator rail and twisted the cap open, tilting her head back to pour the liquid over her face.

"Better?" she asked, hopeful.

Lena nodded, running her fingers through her thoroughly soaked hair. "I think Glomgold's gonna withdraw his cash." She plucked a marble out of her vest pocket. It glowed bright blue. "That's okay, though. I got this little beauty."

"Dude," Dewey said, jaw slack. "What happened to your eyes?"

Lena squinted at him. "Whattaya mean?"

Louie pulled up his camera app, turning it on her. She froze, staring at herself with horror.

Her eyes were gold.


	2. Part 2

"So," Scrooge said, pacing down the very neat line of teenagers, a scowl on his face and his arms behind his back. "Yew crashed Flinty's party, caused a ruckus, and burned down his mansion."

Huey raised his hand. "I'd just like to say I had nothing to do with that. The last part, I mean."

"It was supposed to be safe fire!" Dewey added. "And, I mean, no one was hurt, so..."

Webby chanced a look at the geezer. "Are you mad at us, Uncle Scrooge?"

"Mad? I'm tickled pink!" The old duck broke into guffaws. They all relaxed, though it only lasted long enough to spot Mrs. Beakley firmly striding up behind him, all but saluting the woman. "Flinty's got more'n enough coin to pay fer a wee little mansion. I won't say do it again, but I _will_ say good job!"

"Mr. McDuck," rumbled Beakley, smacking him upside the head with a feather duster. "Arson is never justified."

Scrooge adjusted his hat with a wry grin. "S'that so, 22? Because I seem to recall an incident in the Rockies that say otherwise."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. Arson is _sometimes_ justified." The agent scanned the group of ducks, all smelling of cider and what she hoped was just a leaf fire they happened to come across on the way home and _not_ the tips of their feathers. She noticed Lena and her eyebrows rose. "Dear, why are you wearing Louie's hoodie?"

She had the hood firmly pulled over her head, hands in her pockets. "Louie is a fashion god, and I am merely following his lead."

"Did you lose some sort of bet again?"

"I resent that," Louie said, tugging awkwardly on the edges of what was technically Lena's vest. "I've done far worse than that when it comes to betting."

Scrooge pulled the hood back. Lena squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders raising defensively. "What happened to yer eyes?" he asked, with that tone of voice someone got when they were used to shenanigans from children.

"Nothin'."

"Then open them."

"You'll hate me."

"I _highly_ doubt that. Be pissed at ya, probably, but I won't hate yew."

She sighed, long and loud, tipping her head back for good measure. Webby laced their fingers together almost reflexively, ancient friendship bracelets pressing together as she squeezed. They were on their last threads, but that was okay. They could always make more.

Lena cracked open an eye, displaying the bright yellow-gold her Aunt was known for. Scrooge's jaw dropped.

Beakley recovered first. "Lena," she said. "What did you do?"

"I got pocket-sanded, only with fire. That's not _my_ fault."

Louie coughed into his first. "Createdthefire," he said in one big mush.

"Oh, fuck right off-"

"Lena," Scrooge broke in. His scowl was far more genuine now. "We need to talk."

"I mean, not really? I'm not in any pain-"

"Lena."

"I know, okay? I know." She crossed her arms and looked away. "I shouldn't've been doing magic. I'm a McDuck, not a de Spell. You've pushed it into my head enough times."

"And look what happened because of it!" Scrooge flapped his hand at her. "Those eyes may be just the beginning!"

"I'm a golem, not a clone. The eyes are just a magic thing. It's a fluke."

"Lena-" he started again.

"You're not _my_ Uncle, alright?" Lena snapped. Scrooge clammed up. "Stop acting like it. I follow your rules inside the house like I'm supposed to. What I do outside is none of your business."

"Lena!" Bentina sounded stunned as she grabbed Lena's wrist. "Apologize at once!"

She scowled, fixing her golden eyes on the older woman. It made her waver just slightly. "No."

"Okay!" Dewey broke in, draping an arm around Huey and Louie. "This is getting heated, so we're just gonna... go. Webs?"

Webby hesitated. The sheer anger and fear in Lena's features struck her as offputting, though she didn't dare say it out loud; usually, Lena had a penchant for causing trouble and smiling afterwards. One time, having overheard them betting what would be said, she had tossed in her own coin and screamed "YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD!" at the top of her lungs.

"Go ahead, Webby," said Lena, glaring at the hand clutching her wrist. "This is gonna be messy."

She turned and walked away, feeling the older duck's looks burning into her back.

* * *

Lena and Webby hadn't technically shared a room for years, though they did sleep on the same floor. Despite this, Webby had never gotten around to taking the hammock out of her little attic bedroom; Lena was over for sleepovers so often it didn't seem worth the hassle. Dewey took residence on it while Louie and Webby sprawled out on her bed, Huey going for one of her plush reading chairs.

"So..." Dewey pressed his palms together. "We agree this is weird, right?"

Huey shrugged. "We all knew that overabundant magical exposure has effects on ducks. We all just kinda figured Lena was above all that- since... you know."

"She's not a duck?"

" _Louie_."

"What? It's true."

Dewey carefully rolled onto his side. "I mean, yeah, but that's not what I was getting at. Just... Lena's eyes overall?" He shuddered.

Webby looked up from the photo album she had pulled from her shelves, parsing through it without thought. Most of the photos were of the Duck family and of Lena. Webby was in most of the latter. "They're kind of pretty."

"I guess. It's just..." He flapped his hands at nothing. "Lena's always been Lena, if that makes any sense? She's never _changed_."

She glanced down at the photos, finding one of her before puberty. Sure enough, Lena is the same height, same size, same little smirk as she sticks her pointer and middle fingers up behind Webby's head. All that had changed was where she lived and who she worked for. "I know."

Dewey slipped off the hammock. "Hey, hey. Wherever your brain just went? _Totally_ not true and _not_ valid. Don't listen to Mr. Mean Voice. He's a douche."

"But he has a point this time," Webby admitted, closing the scrapbook. It sat like a bowling ball in her lap. "I always knew Lena couldn't- that she wouldn't... And this is, like, the tiniest little bit of gold in a sea of silver, and I know it's probably fool's gold- and that's okay! Lena is her own person and should grow on her own time. It just... sucks, sometimes."

Louie, sprawled on his back, awkwardly twisted his arm around to pat her knee. "'M sorry, Webs."

"Don't be. It's no one's fault."

* * *

It's late when Lena comes stomping up the stairs. She falls onto her hammock with a frustrated groan.

"That good?" Webby asked.

Lena groaned louder.

Webby shoved Louie's legs off her stomach and sat up in bed. Lena had left Louie's hoodie in a random laundry basket, replacing it with an old Fall In Man t-shirt. The blue marble was sitting ever-so-innocuously on the floor, probably having fallen out of her hand. Webby wondered if she'd explained fully, or if she's stubbornly refused to admit just how much she relied on magic to keep her form up and running.

It didn't matter. It's Lena. Webby always goes and rubs her shoulders anyway. "You were really mean."

"I know. After all these years, you'd think I'd have outgrown that." Lena turned her head to the side. "Give it to me straight, Webby. Do they really look that bad?"

" _I_ think they look beautiful. What about you? They don't bother you?"

"Nope. I mean, I didn't think I'd ever get them, but they don't bother me. Zany magic eyes are the least of my problems."

Webby frowned. "It's okay if you don't like them, you know. If they remind you of-"

"Magica _wishes_ she could pull this look off as well as I am right now," Lena broke in, but it was a half-hearted response. "I'm grounded, by the way."

" _Only_ grounded?"

"Oh, trust me, tea time wanted to do worse. Thank the gods Scrooge had an emo phase too."

"But it's not a phase." Webby's voice was soft, impartial. "It's part of what makes you so cool."

Lena let out a bitter chuckle. "Sure is, Webby. Sure is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot, we got problems!
> 
> There might be four chs instead of three, actually, but that's cool with me! =)
> 
> -Mandaree1


	3. Part 3

By the time the next party came to fruition, Scrooge was back in the air with adventures, and Lena stayed behind. She said very little about her being grounded, but Webby got the feeling she was feeling a bit outcasted. Despite her yearning for adventure and danger, Webby stays too. That somehow leads up to her at the second Beagle Boy party in her life.

"Whose birthday is this again?" Webby asks as she collects her winnings from a Glam Yankee.

Lena, sitting with her back against the table, shrugs and points at Black Arts Beagle. "Who d'ya think?"

"Touché."

Webby shuffles while Lena stands up to visit with the birthday boy. The Beagle family has almost as many neuroses as her own, but when birthday parties do get to happen they're usually fairly nice. Bigtime and Bouncer had shown up and shuffled them off like security guards with the president. They'd even been kind enough to ignore Lena's sharp tongue the whole way over to the junkyard, and Webby knew from experience that she was putting her best effort into her insults.

A 6th Avenue Friendly passes by the table with cups of almond milk. He follows her gaze. "Awwww, isn't that cute? Young love."

"It's disgustin'," a 6th Avenue Meanie responds, grabbing her glass to guzzle it down. He made a face. "Almost as bad as that crap you call a drink."

Webby hates almond milk almost as much as she does nutmeg tea. She lets herself pretend that's the reason she doesn't respond to their misconceptions. That's a good reason, right? Hating a drink so much you don't want to talk about love in its vicinity? It's good enough in her book.

"YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY COMPREHEND THE VAST VORTEX OF MAGIC," Black Arts bellows, pointing an accusing finger Lena's way. Specifically at the glowing blue marble she's holding up, smirking. "NOT IF YOU WILLINGLY BUNDLE IT UP IN SUCH A WAY!"

Lena shrugs. "My Aunt is Magica de Spell. I think I know enough."

The dog flinched, taking a noticeable step backwards. "The shadow queen!"

"Oh, hush up, you big baby. She's not even good enough to be a lady-in-waiting." She eyed him a second before throwing the marble at his face. Black Arts scrambled to catch it. "Hold this for me, won't you? I've got stuff to do." And then Webby _blinks_ and there's a hand held out in front of her. "Care to join me on the dance floor, m'lady?"

Webby almost refuses on the mere principle of being shaken by it, but the gold in her eyes has softened to something almost butter-yellow; and, yeah, Webby's always been a disaster lesbian, and Lena is _really_ pretty. "Sure thing."

The music isn't quite as kosher as it was at Glomgold's ball- actually, it's the lead Tumblebum whistling into an old karaoke mic, the others plucking instruments made of garbage- but somehow that makes it feel personal when Lena pulls her into a slow dance. There wasn't any expectations here. No one thought they should look pretty and waltz or whatever fancy name it was- Webby is gifted at many things, but dancing isn't one of those things. Lena had made a specific choice to do this, for no reason other than to do it.

"Dude," Lena said. "You okay? Your heart is tripping balls."

Webby can't help herself. She's fifteen and she just referenced _balls_. She snorts, breaking into a hiccupping laugh as she buried her beak into Lena's chest. "Stop it, I'm trying to take this seriously."

"Why? It's a Beagle Boy party."

"Our _second_ Beagle Boy party. The average person doesn't live through one."

"Somehow, I doubt Ma is about to invite us into the fold."

Lena shrugged. "Anything's possible with us, pink."

"I guess so."

She grabbed Webby's hand off her shoulder and squeezed. "I _know_."

Webby swallowed and tilted her chin up to meet her gaze. The stench of the junkyard is like a fog after having the cloth of Lena's vest to ventilate it a bit. The low lamplight shimmered against the pink streak in her friend's hair. The golden of her new eyes almost glowed. The edges of her beak turned upwards into a little smirk, the same smirk she'd worn their first Beagle Boy party, and Webby-

Suddenly, Webby can't breathe.

Lena knows her well enough to recognize the beginnings of a panic attack. The shadow golem untangled their limbs and left her hands up in the air. "Are you okay with touch?"

Overwhelmed, she shook her head.

"Okay. Is there anything I can get you?"

Webby swallows. Swallows again. Talking when she can barely breathe is a bit of a challenge. "Chair," she wheezed.

Lena nodded and led her over to a bar stool, hands hovering near her but not touching her. Burger gives a questioning grunt from behind the counter, but quickly hands them a glass of water and shambles off when Lena glares at him. Webby downs it, then has to stop freaking out long enough to remember how to gulp it down. It's too big a mouthful, searing a pathway down her esophagus.

The taller duck carefully hunkered down beside her, watching as she sucked in deep breaths. It wasn't a full attack, but it was damn near close. "What did I do?"

"You didn't _do_ anything," Webby replied. "I just... I dunno. I don't think we should be doing this."

"Dancing or sneaking out of the house?"

She waved a hand between them. "This."

Lena's beak pursed. "Oh."

"Yeah," she said. "Oh."

"I'm sorry, Webs. I didn't mean to freak you out."

"It's not _you_. Well, it kind of is, but it's not _your fault_ , you know?" Webby fiddled with her now-empty glass, listened to it groan against the wood as she turned it. "It just feels mean to both of us to do this sort of thing."

"Mean?"

"Well, yeah. It won't be able to last. I'll grow older, and you won't."

"Oh." Lena's voice took a significant twist downwards. "That."

"I still love you! I'll always love you. And we'll always be friends. But it's just... romance isn't really an option, is it?"

Lena grabs a napkin from seemingly nowhere, tearing it in half. "It could be."

"Could it?"

"I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Well, it's not really a surprise if I'm telling you about it, but it _was_ a surprise." Lena's eyes flashed blue as she reached into her shadow, pulling out a vase of glowing blue marbles. "I've been saving these puppies up for a reason, Webs. I know a spell. A really hard spell, but it's got fire and explosions and it'll be great. And... I'll be able to grow up."

Webby blinked at her, half-afraid to believe it. "All at once?"

"No, like a normal person." She cleared her throat. "I was waiting until we were around the same age. I wanted us to be able to grow up together, come hell or high water or weird impulses to fight death in the pit."

It was great news. Webby should've felt elated. Ecstatic, even. But she didn't. "Why do you sound so afraid?"

Lena shook the vase of marbles. She wouldn't meet her eyes. "Wanna blow this popsicle stand?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! Anxiety is a bitch.
> 
> -Mandaree1


	4. Part 4

Lena grabbed Webby's hand, stepped into the darkness, and became one with the shadows.

Webby's abilities with magic are lukewarm at best. Potions were easy- anyone could dunk some animal guts in a pot and brew it into a life hack- but actual, physical magic was something that could take years to master. And, even then, some were just far more adept at it than others. (It was two or three years back that Webby, due to pure luck, managed to run into Morgana Macawber at a spook-off after fighting a rabid werewolf; they'd kept distant contact ever since, usually bemoaning bad brushes with the supernatural in various cryptic codes, and having this grown woman sometimes zap her loved ones into pudding and moose every once in awhile gave Webby hope for the future.)

Lena, being a shadow golem, had no such problems, leading Webby through various magical realms over the years. Shadows are the clouds of the ground, big and empty between the lines of reality, and while it was conceptually interesting to be in a room of pitch blackness, sitting in an old armchair, and watching Lena shake the jar of marbles as she studied her facial features in an boudoir, but after climbing Yggdrasil this was basically like plopping in a smelly mud puddle and proclaiming it spring water. "Did you ever get that marble back?"

"Nah, dude. That was lowkey his birthday present." Lena shook her jar-full of said marbles. "I think I'll survive without it."

Webby stared at the jar with awe. "This is really happening. You're really gonna grow up."

Lena swallowed and managed a finger-gun. "You bet I am."

"What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing. I'm peachy."

She slipped off the chair. The ground- if it can even be called that- is squishy and warm underfoot, dipping uncomfortably as she walks. Lena didn't shy away from her like she might have when they were younger, letting Webby cup her cheeks. "Lena, you never use 'peachy' unironically."

Lena sucked in a deep breath and grabbed her wrists. She didn't try to move her away. "Webby, what if I do this and grow up and look like _her_?"

Webby blinked at her owlishly. "You're already pretty tall, Lena. I dunno what to tell-"

"Not the height thing, Webby! What if I get her crooked beak and her voice and her cold heart and everything in-between. What if this jar is all that's keeping me... me?"

"That won't happen," she promised. "It can't."

"How can you say that? There's never been a shadow golem like me."

"That's the whole point! _There's never been someone like you before_. You can't be Magica if you're already somebody else." Webby took a calculated risk and craned upwards to bump their beak-tips together in a display of affection. "Quit worrying about that kind of stuff. I'll smack any Magica outta you."

Lena huffed out a laugh, eyes slipping shut. "Okay, that's waaay more reassuring than it should be."

"Let's take it one day at a time. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Lena said, taking a deep breath. "One at a time."

She turned and smashed the vase.

* * *

There _is_ fire and explosions, as promised, but it's less 'cool fire coming out of the mouth of a dragon' and more 'wow okay the entire place is on fire ow ow ow', followed by Lena hurling for a solid five minutes before passing out.

They manage to stumble back to the mansion by mid-afternoon the next day, clothes disheveled and smelling like an ash tray each. Webby's wrists and hands are burnt. Lena's everything is a bit crispy, but thankfully a quick preening shows it's just her top feathers. Running her fingers through them reveals a new kind of softness, the kind her synthetic ones didn't have.

They're real.

Lena's finally, really real.

And they're gonna grow up together.

"LEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA," Webby bawls, collapsing on top of her. "YOU'RE SO PRETTY AND COOL AND I LOVE YOU AND I CAN'T WAIT TO GROW UP TO BE OLD BIRDS WHO KILL SPIES ON COMMISSION TOGETHER."

"You need a shower," griped Lena, smirking just a little.

They clean themselves off to the best of their abilities, flop into Webby's bed, and sleep for a solid ten hours. Lena vanishes into the shadows, returning with ten pounds of chocolate and soda, and Webby's too hungry to complain about getting their proper nutrients. One day of sweets won't destroy fifteen years of training.

They sleep some more, then get up fully. It's late at night as they make their way downstairs, curling up under a blanket on the couch. They settle on some cheesy Chip Damage movies and wait for sunrise.

(Duckworth will find them, snoozing pressed against each other once again. "You smell like brimstone," he will comment, and Lena will throw him two middle fingers and say, "Jealous?" and he will send them a dry look and reply, "I'm positively green.")

* * *

"That was a fun adventure!" Dewey yells as the family stumbles into the mansion, laden with gold and exhaustion. "I fought the devil!"

"That's nothin'," Scrooge grumbles, but he's smiling sideburn to sideburn. "I fight him every year! S'how I keep my youthful look about me."

Huey and Louie follow, the former's feathers bent and crooked from botched falls. Louie rolled his eyes as Huey proclaimed, "I found out the exact time and date of my death! It was very enlightening."

"It was boring," the youngest triplet rebuffed. "I mean, heart attack? At ninety-five? In _this_ family?"

Scrooge rubbed his chin. "It _is_ a bit young for the McDuck genes. I'll hafta speak to Hades about that."

Webby eagerly slammed her hands on the armrest of the couch, bouncing on the cushion. "I got a girlfriend! _And_ I grew as a person!"

"Damnit, Webby." Louie threw his hands up. "Why does your adventure get to kick our adventure's ass like that?"

Lena came out of the hallway carrying two glasses of juice. She studied them a moment, but said nothing, handing Webby her glass before turning to Scrooge. "I threw out the marbles."

"Threw them out?"

She shrugged. "You were bitching about them drawing in monsters. I threw them out."

The old duck squinted at her suspiciously. "When did yew put black streaks in yer hair?"

"Around the time you learned to mind your own business, old man."

Huey gleefully broke Lena's personal bubble as he leaned in, mere centimeters from her face. "You kind of look like-"

Lena chucked her juice at him.

" _Lena_!" Scrooge snapped. Lena lifted her chin and stubbornly stared him down. Scrooge stared right back, taking the moment to take in her eyes and hair. Huey was right. Something about Lena seemed to be thinner and leaner, as if she had tried to shapeshift into Magica and given up halfway through. But her stocky shoulders were on full display, and amongst the deepest, blackest of the feathers ran a bright blue shaft.

Finally, he said: "Ye look fine, lass."

"Literally didn't ask." Still, her features began to soften as she relaxed. "But thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been drifting in and out of writer's block for a bit.
> 
> I COULD have made a reference to DW or smth of it's ilk, but instead have a random OK KO mention lol.
> 
> -Mandaree1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to go further into the 'fic, but I feel like this was a good ending for the first part. This is gonna be 3-4 chapters I think.
> 
> -Mandaree1


End file.
